


Greater Heights

by askynote



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Princess Diaries AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-23 01:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11392710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/askynote/pseuds/askynote
Summary: The last thing Isak needed in his life was to be told he’s apparently royal. Though, he has been spending more time with Even ever since, which makes it a little harder to complain.





	1. World Turned Upside Down

**Author's Note:**

> hello buns!! it's been awhile since i've written a multi-chaptered fic. I'm currently working on this and another fic, but that one is pretty much in the outlining stage so just cross your fingers for me and hope for the best.
> 
> Also thanks to my bestest friend in the whole word for telling me to just post the damn thing gbfgngh
> 
> Title comes from [Meteorites](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nqmCRhagy_g) by Lights

  **Mamma:**

_My son, just a reminder that your grandmother has come to the city and would love to meet you. She wants to have tea this afternoon at her place._

Isak clutches his phone, staring at the message once again while a strange feeling settles in the pit of his stomach. Who the hell travels from so far to meet for tea? Isak thinks, putting his phone back into his pocket without typing a reply. He has never met or talked to his grandmother before, he didn’t even think she acknowledged his existence, and suddenly she wants to hang out with him. Isak doesn’t know what to make out of this.

He has been fretting about it since yesterday, depriving him of sleep the entire night. In consequence, his mind had drifted away during conversations and made him pay no attention to his classes. The latter is surely coming back to bite him in the ass later.

Isak’s eyes draw up to what seems to be a huge old-fashioned mansion. He checks the direction again, just to be sure he got it right.  

He has to swallow down the knot in his throat and ignore the urge to turn his back and forget about it. The back of his mind is yelling _this is a bad idea, bad idea_ , but it can also be that anxious, fearful side of him. Isak tries to trust his instincts, he truly does, but his thoughts and emotions are often confusing. It’s hard to decipher which one is gut feeling and which one is Isak thinking the worst out of a situation.

He really doesn’t have a lot of options here, though. They would probably call his mom if he doesn’t show up, and that’s—not really ideal. Or who knows, maybe they will try to reach him directly,  or they won’t care at all, but still, Isak is not taking any chances, not when she has been doing better the past couple of days after having some rough weeks.

With a sigh, Isak pushes the button of the intercom, and then there's a male voice coming from the speakers:

“What can I do for you?”

“I, uh, came to see my grandmother? Lea Valtersen?”

“Oh, right, we've been waiting for you,” the voice replies and the gates start to open with a creak. “Come in, and don't step on the grass, please.”

Isak’s first impression of the place makes him wonder how someone who has never lived in the city, or even visited it for that matter, owns a place this big. But it would make sense, Isak guesses, if this side of his family turned out to be somehow rich. His father basically paid for all of his education and tended to send him a bunch of money for the holidays as a gift, as if that somewhat helped to ignore his absence.

Isak takes his time to walk to the main entrance, feeling the surveillance camera following him as he moves. His eyes fix on the flags flying on the mast, moving softly with the wind, on the perfectly trimmed grass he’s supposed not to step on. There’s the sound of water running coming from a fountain a little farther, and Isak wants to dip his fingers in the water. But as much as he wishes to stay outside and wander off, he stays on the path.

He only has to listen to whatever she wants to tell him. It shouldn’t be this hard. Although if it weren’t his grandmother, Isak would’ve thought they were going to express their condolences or some other bland bullshit people tell each other when someone dies, and they don't really know what else to say or how to act. But there’s no way she wishes to have a heart-to-heart. Isak barely knew his father, and yes, perhaps it did sting when he got the news, and maybe he also cried a bit in the solitude of his room, but he got over it soon after a long talk with Jonas, about how there are people who just don’t deserve to have tears spilled for them.

So no, there has to be another reason for this meeting, since Isak was never close to him, not enough for a relative to come and share about how much his loss hurts.

But fuck, Isak knows what he’s expecting from this, even if he doesn’t bring himself to admit it. It’s dumb to wish for it, for an apology or even a vague explanation of why things turned out the way they did, but underneath his numerous layers of façade there’s an Isak who’s a wishful thinker. He can’t help that.

A butler opens the door for him right when he's about to knock. Isak drops his arm and steps in, getting startled by one of the guards as he grabs Isak’s backpack from behind and checks what's inside because of ‘security measures’, they tell him. Isak raises an eyebrow at that.

“But why would you—Sorry, where am I exactly?” Isak asks as they zip his backpack closed.

“In the Genovian Consulate,” the guy from the intercom responds, now in front of him, sitting at a desk, eyes glued to a computer.

A woman comes over to tell him that her grandmother is already waiting on the patio, and Isak is a little too distracted absorbing his surroundings to ask anyone anything else.

It’s not a surprise to see that the patio is as extravagant as the rest of the house—or consulate, whatever. And yet, Isak is glad to find it a little less overwhelming.

He shoves his hands into his pockets as he makes his way to the table.

It’s easy to recognize his grandmother right away, not only because, well, she’s the only present who appears to be old enough to be his grandmother. Isak has seen her before in the scattered photos his mother has stored in her drawer, and even if they are worn and dusty, his father looking not much older than Isak at the time, he can see the obvious resemblance.

She stands up when she spots him and offers him a welcoming smile. She looks so elegant and well-dressed that Isak feels out of place with only his snapback and old hoodie, but honestly, everything about this makes him feel out of place.

“Dear god, you look so much like my son.” She extends her hand for him to shake and Isak takes it, letting that comment slide off him. “It's so nice to finally meet you. Take a seat, please.”

“Thanks.”

Soon, Isak’s knee jiggles under the table, and he distracts himself by putting sugar in his tea. Her eyes stay on him, studying, while Isak stirs it. He keeps stirring and stirring, because the last thing he wants to do is meet her gaze.

Unfortunately, he can't pretend for that long, so he puts the spoon down and his hands around the cup to take a sip.

“So Isak,” she starts, “how much you know about your father?”

 _Okay, that didn’t take long._ “Um. Not much. Really,” he says, licking his upper lip. “Just that—he's not here anymore. He passed away a few months ago.”

“Yes. He was in a terrible accident, as you've been told already, for sure. And if I recall correctly, you received a package?”

“Yeah, I did.” It was a surprise to return from school and find a wrapped box with a few of his father’s belongings—nothing fancy, some old books and clothing. That day too Isak found his mother sobbing in the kitchen, phone in hand long after the other person had hung up. “It was nice of you. Letting me know.”

“It was so abrupt, you know?” she says. “Not even in my darkest nightmares I would've imagined this would happen. His absence has deeply hurt a lot of people, including me.”

“I'm sorry,” Isak says, and he's surprised he actually means it. It's true that Isak never met his father, that he holds so many grudges against him, but he can hear the sadness and mourning behind her voice, and that little kid inside of him still wishes he could feel that same type of sadness, that he could say ‘he was such a good person’ or ‘I know how you feel’. But he can’t, he doesn't know how it feels, how _she_ feels, because that would mean he had a father to miss in the first place. All he can offer her is sincere sympathy.

Isak clears his throat. “Did he, um—Is there a reason why you came here?”

There’s a brief moment of silence, and it’s a little annoying that after it passes, instead of replying she dodges his question. “Isak, do you know who I am?” Isak notices there’s a strange tone in her voice.

He takes a long sip of his tea. He is not sure what he’s supposed to say to that. _“_ Eh, sure?”

His grandmother looks at him for a long time again as if she is trying to pick the right words to say next. “Well, I don't really think so, dear.”

“What do you mean?”

“Genovia, where I come from, is a kingdom. You know that, right?” Isak nods slowly. There’s something Isak is missing, something huge. It's all hinted at her tense posture, in the way she's carefully choosing her moves, but Isak can't quite grasp what it is.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, they have this confidence gleam that is hard to look away from. “Isak, I am Lea Valtersen, queen of Genovia, and your father Terje Valtersen was the Crown Prince of Genovia.”

And well, there’s that.

Isak busts out a laugh, an actual big loud laugh. Because what the hell, seriously.

But nobody else is laughing. His grandmother, the butlers behind her, they stay stern and quiet, surprised only because of Isak’s reaction. His stomach swirls.

(In hindsight though, maybe he would've put the pieces together sooner if he hadn't had too much going on in his mind).

“That makes no sense. Because if my father was from royalty that would mean I am—”

“A prince,” she confirms proudly, like she's not realizing the weight of her words, falling over Isak like a heavy storm. “The next heir to the throne.”

“Heir? As in—as in rule?

“Yes.”

“Me?” Isak chokes out. “Rule? _An entire nation?”_

“As the only son of the Crown Prince, yes. I am queen by marriage, but you—you are royal by blood. You must rule. It's the law.”

Isak shakes his head, over and over again as if this were a bad dream and he was making himself wake up. “No. I'm not going to do that.”

“You have to. The future of the kingdom relies on you.”

And what a fucked thing to say for someone who’s already freaking out.

“I can't.”

“Of course you can. You'll have help. It’ll be fine, we have years to train you for when the time comes. For now, we only have to focus on turning you into the prince you’ve always been.”

“No. No. I'm sorry.” He stands up quickly, his leg hitting the table, almost spilling the tea over it.  He feels dizzy and his hands are shaking. “Sorry. I—I have to go.”

“Isak—”

But her calls get lost on his ears as he bolts out.  

He steps on the stupid grass even as the speakers yell him not to in four languages and keeps running even when the consulate gets far away. Maybe that way the words will also stay behind, in the background where Isak won’t be able to reach them. But of course, they don’t, they keep ringing in his head and Isak knows they are not going to stop doing so anytime soon.

****

The first thing he does when he arrives home is collapsed with his face down on the pillows to muffle his screams. He tends to do that a lot, let all out, hoping the tightness on his chest eases. He turns around to stare at the ceiling, feeling anything but relief.

What happened must be some sort of joke.

Isak, whose clothes are always all around the floor of his bedroom, who loses things every single time in all the mess because he can't bring himself to clean when he's supposed to. Isak, who can't open his locker without the books falling to his feet or walk without tripping over a step, is not, in any form, leader material.

They definitely got the wrong guy. There’s an Isak in a parallel universe who's collected and secure, who can hold and master discussions, defend his opinions, who’s not afraid or ashamed to be himself and has what’s necessary to be a prince. They must've switched places somehow, and that Isak is now in a world where he'll be destined to be a nobody his entire life, all potential wasted, while he is stuck here, in this universe, living the life of someone more capable than him.

His phone goes off, and Isak ignores it.

The worst thing about the situation is that, as much as he wants to, he can't confront his mother about this. He can't call her out for hiding a secret this big from him for years, he can’t do a typical teenager tantrum just for the sake of it. He’s not even sure he has the heart to get mad at her in the first place, to watch her face crumble as she realizes she has upset him.

His phone buzzes a second time, and Isak watches the screen lighting up with a message from Jonas.

_How did it go?_

Isak lets his phone flop on his chest, waiting to gather enough energy to respond, but he doesn’t think he can start a conversation right now.

Isak glances at the window and debates how bad would it be if he sneaked out. Maybe to get drunk. It’s not hard to get out of his house unnoticed. But he quickly tosses that thought away. He has a test tomorrow, and it sucks that life doesn’t stop when you’re having a crisis.

So not in the mood to talk with Jonas, and he can’t ask his mother the questions haunting his mind.

That leaves Isak wallowing in self-pity. And the most upsetting thing about it is that he has gotten used to the feeling for years.

****

The next day, Isak’s head is fucking killing him. Apparently, two cups of coffee are not enough to wake him up and stop the constant pounding. An unknown number has also been calling to his phone repeatedly since the morning, and Isak has a vague assumption of who might be, which is totally not helping him to feel better.  

Isak must look as bad as he feels because Jonas has been shooting him inquiring looks since the class began.

Isak taps his pencil against the table and tries to keep his mind from going to certain thoughts and focus on the test.

His phone vibrates through his jeans.

He takes a deep slow breath as he reads the first question.

He thinks the teacher is speaking. Her voice seems to be too far away for him to understand.

His phone goes off again.

Isak circles answer a, and then b for the next question.

This is easy and familiar. Blocking out the world around him, forgetting about whatever happens outside these doors. Isak has a good long-term relationship with school. It’s comforting, a safe space. It’s class after class and work after work, a steady rhythm contrasting with the mess and unpredictability of his life. There’s only worry about paying attention to the teachers, showing up to the classroom on time, remembering the assignments he has to turn in, and while it does get tedious when everything accumulates, Isak latches onto school like a lifeline.

Someone is calling him again, and Isak takes the chance to glance at the number when the teacher’s back turns.

And it’s not surprising to see the same unknown number.

But this time they leave a voicemail.

Isak’s phone slips from his hands, falling unceremoniously to the floor. Since everyone is quiet, the sound echoes through the room as if Isak had dropped a toolbox.

He curses under his breath and bends down to retrieve it. And since the world hates him today, he hits his head on the desk table.

“Isak, everything is fine?” their teacher asks, and suddenly all the heads have turned to look at him, their eyes piercing. Isak wants to yell them to mind their own damn business.

And Isak’s phone doesn't stop buzzing.

“Um—” Isak catches Jonas at the corner of his eyes, his eyebrows raised in a silent question. The teacher crosses her arms, waiting for a response. Isak stands up from his chair, gathering his things quickly. “I’m finished. Can I go, please?”

Isak doesn't really remember if she said yes, he just left his paperwork at her desk and flew out of the classroom.

****

Isak doesn't throw up, but he feels on the verge of it. Or on flushing his stupid phone down the toilet. But since the company doesn't cover up that type of water damage he has to opt for just turning it off.

Isak remains hidden in the stall, sitting on the closed toilet lid, his hands clenching his thighs. His eyes still on the white polished tiles, and Isak waits for his chest to feel lighter with the passing minutes to finally leave.

He stands in front of the mirror and twists the handle of the sink, splashes water over his face several times until his mind gets clearer.

He has to answer them. He’s conscious of that. He just needs to—fuck, he has no idea, but he can’t face them without knowing what he’s supposed to do with all this.

Isak sees the door bursting open through the mirror, and he catches some guy from the corner of his eyes as he closes the faucet. At first, he doesn’t pay him too much attention, but then Isak is turning to grab something to dry his face, and the boy is right beside him, blocking his way to the dispenser.

“Hi.”

Isak has to blink to unfreeze his brain, and realize Even is the one standing next to him, the new third-year student who transferred a couple of months ago. Suddenly, Isak can only notice how bright his blue eyes seem from up close, and Isak blames it on his tiredness when his heart thumps funnily against his chest.

The thing about Even and him is that their interactions consist of polite greetings and small smiles down the hallway. There are times though, when Even’s gaze burns his back, lingering on him even after Isak catches him. And maybe he would have shrugged it off as a flick of his imagination if it wasn’t a constant occurrence, or if their eyes didn’t stay on the other for longer than Isak is willing to admit.

Right now, Even leans against the sink, a grin showing up on his face.

Isak realizes too late that he has been staring without saying a word, and he glances away, his cheeks burning. “Erm, hey.”

Isak is aware that his skin is still damp, but he can't bring himself to move, his feet planted on the floor. Though Even solves that problem easily by grabbing one of the paper towels and offers it to him, smile unwavering. “Here.”

Isak takes it tentatively as if it could burn him—which is stupid. He's being stupid. “Thanks.”

He dries his face and maybe rubs the tissue a little harder than he's supposed to, just out of frustration, and Even must have noticed, because he's scooting closer, barely, almost unnoticeable.

“Are you feeling, okay? I saw you running off class,” Even says, sounding so sincerely concern that Isak genuinely considers the idea of opening up to him for a beat, of saying that no, not really, he’s not fine at all, because his grandma decided it was convenient to show up and make her way back into his life as if she hadn’t ignored him for the major part of it, along with throwing on his shoulders the responsibility of ruling a land he knows nothing about. It's a fleeting thought that dissipates as fast as it comes, but he can’t ignore there’s something about Even that makes him wish he could spill it all to him.

“Just a little dizzy,” Isak replies, which is not a lie.

Even considers him for a moment, his head tilted. “Well, you wanna go to the school doctor? I can go with you, you know, to make sure you arrive safely.”

Isak lets out a little snort. He feels his lips curving, just slightly. “Nah, it's not a big deal. I'll probably just head home.”

“You sure?”

Isak hesitates for an answer. How nice would it be? To say yes and indulge himself for something he might never be brave enough to have. Maybe one day he will, but not today, that's for certain.

“Yeah, it's fine.”

“Okay.” Even’s smile is gentle as he reaches for the door, and Isak’s fingers twitch as if they wanted to stop him. “See you.”

He leaves, and Isak stares at the spot where Even had just been.

He exits the restroom only when the door opens harshly with a group of boys shoving each other.

****       

After school, Isak has not even taken off his shoes when he hears chatting coming from the kitchen. Taken aback, Isak throws his backpack on the couch and follows the direction of the noise, because his mom rarely gets guests, and there’s no reason why any of his friends would come if Isak is not there.

Isak finds her mother sitting at the kitchen table, a cup in her hands. That’s not what makes him stand still, though, it’s his grandmother, sitting next to her, talking enthusiastically. Both stop their conversation as soon as they see him.

“What are you doing here?” Isak says, tone snappy, and hands balled up into fists to his sides, otherwise he fears they might shake if he lets them loose.  

His grandmother doesn’t seem affected by his posture, and when she talks it feels like a reprimand, “We’ve been trying to contact you all day.”

“I was at school.”

“Baby,” his mom starts, shifting on her chair so she's looking directly at him, “it’s really important that you discuss this issue with your grandmother. You can't just ignore it, sweetheart.”

Isak’s eyes rest on the floor, and he wants to scowl at himself for feeling this guilty. There are a million questions running through his head, several people he should be and is _allowed_ to be mad at, but here he is, as if he was the one who lied, as if he was the one being wrong.

And fuck, he wants to be angry, but his heart is throbbing with frustration and anxiety instead, just like he knew it would be.

He keeps his voice as steady and firm as he can muster, when he says, “Can we talk outside?”

His grandmother’s face lights up, possibly hopeful, and agrees instantly. She thanks his mom for receiving her before following Isak to the door, and Isak can only sigh, resigned.

Isak lets his head fall against the door after closing it behind him. “You shouldn't bother her with this stuff. I don't know if you—she's just—”

“Yes. I know about it,” she says, saving him from any more babbling. “She looks well right now. I'm glad.”

Isak restrains himself from releasing a bitter laugh. His mother is better now, no thanks to her, or his father. While they are paying for her treatment, she has no idea what Isak and his mom have been through, what it took for both to get them where they are. Also, Isak doesn’t really want to add more stress into her life, not when it’s something he can handle alone.

“Isak,” she continues, “I know the news might be too shocking, and it's a huge responsibility for one to carry, but I trust that with the proper education, you'll turn into a great prince. I’ve heard you're such a smart kid, after all.”

The sun is bright, no trace of clouds in the sky. Isak can pretend his frown is a cause of the light hitting his face. “Can anyone else take my place?”

“Yes, but…it is not preferable. The family that would take over is… well, they are not of the liking of the people.” Her tone makes it seems that she's not fond of said family either.

At his lack of response, she takes a step forward to take hold of his arm. “We are having our Independence Day ball in a few weeks and I want to present you not only to the press, but to the public too. You’ll be prepared, like I told you yesterday.”

Isak picks up a strand from the hem of his hoodie to tangle it around his index finger.

“What if—What if I take your lessons, but erm, without agreeing to take the crown.” Before she gets the chance to protest, Isak adds, “I can tell you my decision at the ball. I just need time to think.”

She studies him up and down, clearly unconvinced, and Isak does his best to hold her gaze, it’s take it or leave it. And apparently, it somehow works. “Fine, that will have to be enough for me.”

Isak lets his shoulders relax. “Great. Um, if you don’t need anything else, I guess I will just…”

“No, no, there’s something else.” The hand on his arm tightens, and she tugs at it to get him to walk. Isak has to bite his tongue to keep himself from groaning. “There’s someone I need you to meet.”

****

Isak doesn’t want to know what his neighbors are thinking of the huge black limo parked beside the sidewalk. Isak is already feeling pretty uncomfortable at the man who lives in front of his house, whom Isak always finds sitting outside in a folding chair. He’s currently watching them attentively, a pen sticking out of his mouth, narrowed eyes. Isak purposely tries to look at anywhere but his direction.

“Isak, this is Eskild.” The man, or rather young man, extends his hand, and Isak shakes it. He’s definitely older than Isak, but probably just by a couple of years. “He’ll be your chauffeur, and he'll keep you out of trouble if necessary.”

Isak raises his eyebrows and does his best not to laugh. “Chauffeur? I don’t need a chauffeur. Or some kind of bodyguard, for that matter.”

“He will drive you to school and take you to my place after it,” his grandma goes on as if he hadn't said anything. Honestly, Isak can't tell if she didn't hear him or if she's just blatantly ignoring him.

“I can walk?”

“It’s only for precaution, and to make sure you arrive on time.”

Isak grunts, and his chances to express any complaint get interrupted with the guy, Eskild, patting his cheeks. “Don't be grumpy, little prince, your pretty face probably values more than you can imagine. While we're keeping this secret as best we can, it’s better to be careful.”

Isak doesn't think moving around the city in a limo counts as being discreet, but he’s tired of arguing.

Sensing that he has accepted defeat, Eskild places his arm around Isak, squeezing. “Stop frowning. I promise I'll take good care of you,” he says, winking, in what must be a teasing way that shouldn't make Isak shift uncomfortably—he knows it's a joke, goddammit—but does anyway, because his weird neighbor hasn't stopped watching them and fuck his self-consciousness.

His grandmother has her hands on her hips, satisfied with herself. “I can't wait to start the training. You'll do great.”

And when both turn to him, they look so hopeful and eager—

Yeah, Isak is already starting to regret this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i didn't make eskild the queen, hope you're not dissapointed,,,
> 
> Also, you know so apparently, Genovia is similar to Monaco in the book and to Andorra in the film. Monaco was an italian principality, so for au purposes we will all just pretend Genovia used to be a norwegian principality 
> 
> you can find me on tumblr [here](http://askybison.tumblr.com/)


	2. Proper Education

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys <3 thank you so much for all the feedback from last chapter, i'm so happy you're as excited as i am <3

Isak has been playing around with the buttons of the limo for a while now, the partition separating the driver’s and passenger’s compartment going up and down, up and down. Who knows, maybe it will do something else if he presses down enough times. He gets bored of it before he tries and sees, though, so he shifts on his seat, and lets his head fall against the window, the buildings and cars passing by and becoming a blur as the vehicle keeps moving.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to get used to this, to luxuries like this one. Not when he has never exactly craved them. To be honest, it’s unpleasant how it makes him feel like he doesn’t belong in the setting at all. He hates, hates, hates feeling that way. It's awful and awkward, and it makes him dig for defects in himself for longer more than he should.

A deliberate loud sigh comes from the driver’s seat. Isak averts his gaze from the window. “Okay so important question.” Eskild adjusts the rear view mirror to look at Isak directly in the eyes. “Do you recommend any nice bars? Clubs? Preferably nice gay bars? But I’m not picky.”

Isak tries not to visibly choke. “What the fuck would I know about gay bars?” It comes out as a reflex, too rushed, defensive, and he has to bring himself not to duck his head. It’s been awhile since Isak stopped lying to himself, he knows that when he looks at girls there’s no fluttering in his stomach, no desire, nothing. Instead, looking at boys makes his heart beat fast, his hands tingle, the difference too contrasting to be ignored. The hardest part was to accept it himself, and he has done it, slowly and still with a lot of work to do. That doesn’t mean it’s easier to tell the whole world.

Thankfully, Eskild dismisses his weird reaction with a shrug, but his face tells him he’s still waiting for an answer.

Isak shoves whatever unnecessary panic he had to a corner and narrows his eyes. “Are you even allowed to?”

“If I have a day off, yes. Which I don’t think it would happen, really, but it doesn’t hurt to know.”

Isak stares at him before telling him that no, he doesn’t know any bars (which is a huge fucking lie), and he can google it if he really has to know.

Eskild turns on the signal light. Isak recognizes the locals and houses. They are almost at Nissen.

Isak leans forward. “Can you park away from the school? I don’t want people to start asking questions.”

Catching everyone’s attention is the only thing that could make everything about this worse. The entire school gossiping about how he suddenly seems to have a nice amount money is the last thing he wants, and at least, that something they all agreed to. That’s why it’s not a surprise when Eskild doesn’t even protest about his request.

He pulls in the less transited street, and Isak gets out after some pedestrians walk away.

“I’ll pick you up after class, okay?” Eskild says.

“Okay.”

“We’ll go to the consulate after.”

Right. He still has to do that. “Okay.”

“Don’t think too much about it, Isak. It’s just some etiquette lessons.”

“I’m not worried,” he mutters under his breath.

“Mmm,” Eskild says, clearly not believing him.

Isak tightens his grip on his backpack strap. Sometimes he wishes he could see himself from the exterior, from other’s point of view, to see what is it about his gestures, his way of talking that lets people pick up hints about what’s going through his head, or at least, to form a mere idea that there is _something_ going on. Deciphering what is happening exactly? That’s a whole different story that no one, not even Jonas can do, not when Isak tries his hardest to keep the saddest pieces of his life locked up. So when anyone manages to see through him, he doesn’t know if to be taken aback, or angry for being so transparent. Or if to feel this sliver of relief that some care enough about him to notice, to pay attention.

But he has known Eskild for less than a few hours, so the fact that he could sense his jitteriness just makes him feel weird.

His words do seem to relax him down a little though, so he’s not going to complain too much about it.

****

“Hey, you never told me how it went with your grandmother.”

Isak does his best to not slump on his chair and glare at Jonas. He was doing so great at keeping his mind away from the whole thing, he joked around, paid attention to every single one of his classes, and it was as if the previous day had vanished completely.

Right until now, because Isak has the greatest luck ever.

“Yeah,” Magnus says as he sneakily tries to get his hand into Mahdi’s chip of bags for the third time, only to get smacked when his hand makes it as far as the corner of the bag. “Didn’t you tell us she’s from like this super-secret country?”

“It’s not secret. It’s just small.”

“How did it went, though?” Mahdi asks him as he scoops a chip to his mouth while Magnus watches him with a combination of petulance and sadness. Isak would’ve rolled his eyes or tease him if he wasn’t screaming to his brain to come up with some believable story. Preferably fast, because the longer it takes him to answer, the more likely they’ll see he’s hiding something.

“Fine, I guess.” He clears his throat, eyes still on his sandwich. “Or...as fine as it could’ve gone. She just wanted to see me.”

Jonas hums, and says, “But like, is it done?”

Isak winces, and takes a bite of his food, dragging it out as much as possible. He can’t lie about that, not if he’s planning to spend his afternoons busy with the whole learning-to-be-royal deal. A half-truth will do. He settles with, “Not really. I mean, she wants to keep meeting, to like, reconnect or something.”

“But you know you don’t have to, right? You don’t owe them shit.”

“I know that.” He wouldn’t have accepted if they hadn’t pestered him. He would’ve forgotten about it, continuing with his life. Maybe. “But she’s not _that_ bad. It wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Jonas looks like he wants to say something else, but Mahdi gives Isak a light push on his shoulder before he can go on. “As long as you’re okay with it, man.”

Isak offers him a small, thankful smile, and catches Magnus trying to reach for the bag of chips. Same as Mahdi, apparently, because he quickly snatches it from him before he can even touch it.

“Magnus, what the fuck.”

Magnus groans loudly. “Dude, I’m starving, come on.”

“No way. You always suck everything like a vacuum when we share.”

He looks around for support from either Isak or Jonas.

Jonas shrugs. “He’s right.”

Isak, for his part, gazes at Magnus blankly _—_ partially relieved and partially indifferent _—_ which is no help whatsoever.

It takes a few more complaints to make Mahdi sigh, exasperated. “Dude, just go get your own.”

“Have you seen how long the line is?”

They keep arguing for a while, and Isak is more than glad that the focus of the conversation has finally shifted from him.

****

Isak’s etiquette teachers turned out to be around his age, which is odd. He had mentally prepared himself to be surrounded by stern old people, like in those family movies where they deprive kids of having fun.

“It’s just so you don’t feel too awkward,” his grandmother explained as Isak shook hands with the girl.

She offered him a bright smile, and said, “Nice to meet you. I’m Vilde.”

“Noora and she will take care of teaching you manners. How to speak, walk, dance, eat, stand. As you can see, Noora is not here yet, she’ll be present for other lessons,” she said, putting her hands on Vilde’s shoulders. “Right now, Vilde will teach you dining etiquette.”

And at that time, he had thought, oh _well, dining, that’s going to be easy._

He was enormously fooled.

After the introductions his grandmother went to sit on one of the chairs, watching them from the corner. Over the course of Isak’s lesson, she has been either rubbing her temples or sighing, crestfallen. Isak can’t blame her though. He can only blame her for expecting better.

“Isak, you have to grab the fork like this. No, no. Not like that. The tines go down. And put your elbows off the table.”

Isak drops the cutlery on the plate and squirms on his chair. It would be easier to pay attention if there wasn’t a scarf wrapped tightly around his shoulder. “Why does it matter? And why I can’t take this off.”

“It’s to correct your bad posture. And also you have to learn manners if you don’t want people to think you’re a hooligan.”

“I don’t think they will care that much.”

“They _will,_ Isak. You want people to think that our prince, our next ruler, has no knowledge of the basic rules of proper education?” she says, eyes sharp, and whatever tint of amiability and lightness they previously had when they met, have long vanished at his attitude. And okay, he can admit that’s his fault. But there’s so much to learn, and he doesn’t get the point of it. Too many forks and knives and glassware, positions to indicate if he’s done, or if he’s not done yet. The napkin goes on his lap, he can’t use it to clean his whole face, he has to grab a tip and wipe the corner of his mouth. If there’s bread, he has to eat it piece by piece, instead of taking a bite directly from it. He has to grab the glass from the stem, not from the bowl. The host has to pick their cutlery before the guests can start eating. And so on, and on.

Really it’s just food, why can't they just shove it in their mouths and be done with it.

It takes him a few more hours to finally get the grip on it, or at least, decent enough for them to call it a day.

“Don’t worry, Isak. We’ll keep practicing,” Vilde says, all chirpy once again. Isak can't form an opinion about her yet, what he knows is that he's exhausted, his ass has fallen asleep from sitting for so long, and her voice is a little too loud, and he can't understand how she can muster the energy to sound so cheery.

Two days later he meets Noora, and partnered up with Vilde, they both are basically in charge of all he has to learn. They have him walking with his back straight around the room and teach him how to greet and say goodbye. Noora helps him with public speaking, which actually comes in handy. Isak tends to do well on essays, but reading them aloud is a whole other story. That has always been more Jonas thing.

He meets Eva too, who does multiple tasks now and then in the kitchen or in the garden. Her mother is part of the attaché corps so she hangs around at times when Isak is having his lessons. She offers moral support, or sometimes she just watches and, Isak supposes, enjoys the show.

His grandmother is also there to either do a demonstration as an example or just to make sure the lessons are going well. She hands Isak tons of books to read at home and discusses them with him after he finishes one of them. So far it has been like two. Balancing that with school is not easy. She hasn’t gotten mad about it, so he’s not stressing over it.

Their relationship is still very much foreign to him. She’s nice and kind, Isak will give her that, still, it will take him a lot of time to finally start seeing her as family. That’s okay. He never thought he would give her a chance in the first place.

Friday comes, and Isak is slowly getting used to this, to the routine. Perhaps because the girls do a huge effort to make him feel comfortable. While they can be strict when Isak doesn’t take something seriously, they joke and play around when they take breaks. Eskild is also easy to hang around with, he likes to tease Isak but never pushes too far, he complains about stuff happening at work, about people Isak has never seen. He couldn’t care less about that, but weirdly enough, it serves him to relax after a long day.

It’s a little scary how they all have started to blend so easily into Isak’s life in such a short amount of time.

Thinking about it, Isak can see how this is going to make the announcement of his decision harder than he expected.

He quickly lets that slide. He has plenty of time before the moment comes.

Isak’s phone goes off when he’s about to leave the consulate, pulling him out of his thoughts, which he’s immensely thankful for.

**Jonas:**

_Isak are you going to emma’s?_

**Isak:**

_why?_

**Mahdi:**

_We’re pregaming at mine tonight_

**Magnus:**

_yeah and didn’t you owe us beer??_

**Isak:**

_wtf why do I always owe you beer???_

**Mahdi:**

_you lost the bet_

_remember? weeks ago?_

Isak sighs. He does remember. Or vaguely at least.

He remembers that they were at Magnus’, his parents had left for a fancy meeting or something. At first they’d been talking about joining Jonas to the skate park, and it somehow ended with them mocking Isak about his inability to use anything with wheels other than bike. Which is not wrong, but Isak had to defend his pride. And okay, he was also very high. The point is that the boys dared him to do some trick on the skateboard afterward. To no one surprise, it didn't end well for Isak, he hadn't only ended with an ugly scrape on his elbow, he was also on beer duty for a month.

**Isak:**

_you all tricked me_

_you knew I’d fail_

**Mahdi:**

_if you hadn't bragged about it_

**Magnus:**

_don't be a sore loser_

**Jonas:**

_yeah dude be a man of word_

**Magnus:**

_beer! beer! beer! beer! beer!_

**Isak:**

_ugh_

_okay_

_but not today_

_family dinner_

_sorry_

A typing bubble appears, and Isak pockets his phone before he sees what anyone text back.

He is not, in fact, having dinner with his grandmother. He has to read a book about Genovian history that he has been neglecting thanks to homework, and to be honest he doesn't feel up to go to a party where he would have to pretend he's thrilled to hook up with a girl. He’s getting more and more tired of doing so. It’s better to not go than trying to come up with an excuse.

He walks towards the exit, the porter ready to open the door when a laugh makes him turn his back. It's warm and deep, and somewhat familiar. He remembers hearing it at distance, in a room full of people, while walking towards his class, while Isak is talking to his friend in the schoolyard. It’s a laugh kinda hard to ignore, to forget, at least for Isak.

The person, owner of the laugh, appears into the hallway. Not really going at Isak’s direction, not even noticing he's here, but entering one of the lateral rooms. But now that Isak has had a glimpse, he’s more than sure of who it is.

With the bewilderment and curiosity stirring inside of him, he doesn’t register his feet moving until he’s right there on the archway where he had watched the person disappear. And there he is, Even sliding the glass door to step outside.

Isak clears his throat. “Even?”

He startles, his shoulder collapsing with the glass, making it tremble from the bump. His eyes are wide open, like a child caught while doing something he’s not supposed to. “Isak, hi.”

“Hey. Um, what are you doing here?”

He purses his lower lip. He’s wearing a flannel over a white t-shirt. Isak vaguely remembers seeing him on it at one party. “I—”

“Oh you two are here,” his grandmother’s voice behind them cuts him off. She strolled to the center of the room, standing between them. “Have you already talked to each other at school?”

Isak looks back and forth between the two, and says slowly, “Casually.”

“That’s good. Even is such a sweet boy, isn’t he? He has been watching over you after your father died, while we were arranging everything to come to Norway.”

“Oh.” Isak blinks, and Even averts his gaze. “That’s...nice.”

He understands some pieces of the puzzle that is Even, understands why Isak so often has seen him wandering on his radar. The stealing glances and gentle approaches. It all makes sense now. A tint of disappointment comes along with the realization of the truth, and Isak shrugs it off immediately. He's not going there. He's not.

What he doesn't understand is why Even seems…upset? guilty?

Isak doesn't stay to find out why though, and he is more than thankful to find that Eskild is already waiting for him outside to take him home.

 **** 

On Monday though, Even intersects him while he's on his way to the cafeteria to meet the boys.

At first, Isak is afraid he's going to start following him around, trailing behind him not as subtle as before, now that Isak knows.

Instead, he asks, “You wanna have lunch? Outside?”

So the expected answer would be saying no, back away, and let Even do his job like he has been doing these past months, and stop torturing himself with false illusions. But his brain, or rather his body, is a fucking traitor that has him nodding in a blink.

Even leads them to a bench, their surroundings suspiciously empty. Not that he can complain. They sit side by side, and Isak makes sure to leave enough space between them so their limbs do not brush by accident.

Isak suddenly realizes that he didn't get the chance to buy anything, therefore he has nothing to eat.

He's going to mention it to Even as the latter pulls out a food container, and two cokes from a paper bag. He offers a can to Isak, eyebrows raising, and Isak grabs it from him, wordless.

Even puts the container on the free space Isak left, taking off the lid.

The smell tells Isak what it is before he even sees it, and he can't help to huff out a laugh, “Cheese on toast, really?”

A furrow forms between Even’s eyebrows, but his lip still quirks up. “What's wrong with it?”

“You’ve had it in there for hours.”

“So?”

“The bread isn’t crunchy anymore.”

Even releases a laugh, and it reaches his eyes, lighting them up with something that tugs at Isak’s heart. “Well, Isak you have to trust the food container industry to keep the bread intact.”

“Should I?”

“Well, how about you trust _me_ a little.”

The thought of _what the fuck is this_ crosses his mind. But he reminds himself that this is how Even is. Friendly. Stupidly charming with everyone he meets. There's nothing special about this moment, about the way Even is currently smiling at him.

Isak allows the feeling it provokes him to spread all over him anyway, if only because that's something he can't prevent.

“But I guess, if you don't want it, it's your lost,” Even goes on, grabbing both pieces of toast, one with each hand. “I'll be here enjoying the cheese.”

He takes a bite of one of them, and Isak watches as he swallows it down. He goes for the other bread, and that’s when Isak shoves his shoulder. “I didn't say I wouldn't eat it.”

“Too late, you have hurt me and my toast’s feelings,” Even says, despite handing him the toast a second later.

They eat in momentarily silence, until Even speaks up first, “You know, my mom works in the kitchen. And um, I needed to transfer from my old school so when they needed someone to look after you at school, she wanted me to take the chance.”

“Why only at school, though?”

“ _I_ was the only one watching over you at the school. There were others keeping an eye on you.”

“Oh. That’s um—”

Isak doesn’t really want to go there. It’s creepy as hell to think that he has been watched for so long.

“But what was the need? They hadn't cared about me in seventeen years. Why they suddenly wanted to see if I was alright?” The question is carried with the petulant whining he hadn’t been able to let out before. The words had been queued up since he got the news, he had just been waiting for the right opportunity to say them out loud. But perhaps, it’s not a good idea to let Even see that part of him, the forgotten fatherless kid.

Even doesn’t seem to be affected by it, and answers factually, “No one knew the Prince Terje had a child, and the King had died a few years ago. It was all a huge mess, and if someone had discovered your identity, there press and all that shit would've gone for you. And I guess, I was here to inform them if that happened and get you out of trouble as soon as possible if someone like, suddenly showed up and started bothering you with questions about something you knew nothing about.”

Isak process this information, taking a sip from the can. He understands. He does. It’s the fact that they only cared about him because they were obligated what makes it sad.

“You didn't owe me any explanation, you know? I get that you were doing your job.”

Even eyes him carefully, opening his mouth to say something but he shakes his head as if reconsidering. “I wanted to. It must be weird to find out one of your classmates has been hovering over you all along. Even if it was to keep you safe.”

“I guess.”

A few girls walk past them, talking and laughing. How weird is to see everyone’s world going as normal as always, while his has completely changed from day to night.

“Okay, now that you're aware of this, we can officially become friends.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” Even lets out a breath, stretching out to place his arm behind Isak, resting it on the back of the bench, all seriousness gone. “Maybe you could get a spot in my band.”

Isak’s eyebrows shoot up in amusement. “You’re in a band?”

“Yeah, why is so surprising?”

“Even, you’ve been here for a few months, how the fuck did you form a band?”

“With my charm, and good looks,” he says playfully, and Isak could probably believe that. He does his best to throw him an unimpressed look because there's no way Even is going to know that.

“No, but really, I used to live here when I was a kid,” he explains. “My friends and I...we’ve always wanted to do that. When I came back we wanted to try. Just for fun.”

“What do you play?”

“Keyboard.”

For a moment, Isak can picture him. Fingers pressing on the keys, hands moving skillfully through the instrument, that one curl falling over his forehead as he plays and lets the emotions out through sound. It’s a sight he wouldn’t regret to behold.

Even glances at his watch and Isak can tell they’ve been here for the major part of lunchtime. Isak will have to come up with an excuse for his absence to the boys. He doesn’t mind that much.

Even stands up, holding out his hand to him, even if there's no need to.

Isak takes it anyway.

“You should come to see us practice one day,” Even says while they make their way back inside the building.

“Yeah, sure.”

They reach to the main door, and before they split up to get to their own class, Even smiles, wide and easy. “I'll hold you onto that, then.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading <3


	3. Lies and Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello, first of all sorry this took so long, I got stuck in a scene and I'm still not entirely happy about it, but it's fine I'm fine asjflkd

The water is a nice cold feeling against his skin. Isak moves his hand to create small little creases.

His mom has a mini-version of a fountain similar to this one. It’s placed on the table at the corner of their living room, right next to Isak’s baby photos where he’s wearing a ridiculous red onesie and his toothless smile is fully displaying. When she is down, she asks him to take the fountain to her room, says the constant sound is calm and keeps her steady. Isak understands that, and maybe that's one of the things he has in common with her. He has spent so many times sitting next to his window as it rains, a book, laptop, or schoolwork on his lap. On bad days, he has stared quietly at the droplets slipping. He's aware of the way the sound can make a heart beat slow down to a normal rhythm.

The design of this fountain is very much alike to the one his mom owns. He wonders if it was a gift from his father, given to her whether before Isak was born or with one of the boxes he sent when he remembered he had left a family behind.

It's bitter to think his mom is capable of looking back at the times they shared with fondness.

Isak walks around the fountain, his hand still sunk in the water. He finishes circling it and finds Even sitting on the curb, in the spot where Isak had been a moment ago.

“I thought you've left already,” Even says.

Isak sits down at his side, drying his hand with his jacket. “I'm waiting for Eskild. He went to pick up mom first.”

Even nods, saying nothing else. He probably knows, Isak concludes. It wouldn’t be surprising if they all knew. Another thing to add up to the stuff he doesn’t know how to feel about.

Then, Even lips quirk up in a smirk. He has this ability to shift from one topic to the other smoothly, unnoticeably. “So…about earlier today—”

Fuck. _That’s_ something he pretty much wants to forget, bury it forever.

“Ugh. Don’t.” Isak’s face heats up, and he knows it has reddened. He looks away quickly, so hopefully, Even doesn’t get to see the blush as much. Isak tries to play it cool. “I suck at it, I know.”

“I mean...I didn't want to say it that way but...”

Isak kicks his foot, which causes him to laugh. His eyes crinkle when he laughs like that, loud, sincere, and full of joy. It’s easily contagious, and Isak is joining him with a quieter and shorter laugh.

Noora had tried to teach him how dance today, that slow, bodies-close, hand-on-hips, hand-on-shoulders type of dance. He stepped on her foot enough times to leave a bruise. Isak hopes her paid is worth it.

Even stands up in front of Isak, pulling his hands out of his pockets. “Come here.”

Isak lifts his eyebrows in lieu of a question and receives a quirky smile with a shrug of shoulders.

Sighing, Isak stands up.

It all happens in a rush. One moment Even is still smiling him brightly, the next one, he’s grabbing Isak’s hand to place it on his waist. They barely get to touch when Isak shrinks away, heart throbbing painfully against his chest, and his skin feeling very much on fire.

His throat is tight, and Isak struggles to the get the words out, “What are you doing?” His voice is a pitch higher than he would like to.

“I was going to teach you to dance?” Even says, as if obvious.

Isak takes a step back to allow the air get back to him. He waits for his mind to work properly again, for the unexpected fog to dissipate, and says, “If I couldn't do it with Noora why would you think I could do it with you.”

“I’ve been told I'm a very good teacher.”

A sound akin to a squeak comes out of Isak’s mouth as an unhelpful reply, his brain clearly hasn't recuperated from the previous shock.

His face must be exhibiting the panic he’s feeling because the playfulness leaves Even’s voice. “Hey, it's okay. You don't have to. It was just an idea.”

Isak glances down at his shoes. They are old and dirty on the edges. His grandmother had told him to buy new ones, but Isak insisted they were comfy enough.

Isak’s eyes then trail around them to check if they’re alone.

This is the kind of decision that needs to be taken quickly and without overthinking. He fears that measuring out the cons and pros would only make him keep his mouth shut. So Isak raises his head and catches Even’s eyes. “Okay.”

Even purses his lip, studying him, “Okay?” he tells him. An open door, there for Isak if he needs it, and he’s sure that if he goes through it, Even wouldn’t even question him.

Isak nods, firmer this time.

“Okay,” Even repeats to reassure. “Let's do it.”

Even gets them in position, carefully guiding Isak’s hands to put one on his waist again. Even’s hand is positioned on his shoulder, and the other hand stays laced to Isak’s, raised mildly in the air.

Isak looks behind him, just to make sure the garden is still clear, before turning his focus fully to Even.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, um, just—” _Too close._

Inside, Isak had been this close with Noora, stood taller than her. The nerves coiling in his stomach had been because he’d feared he would make a fool out of himself. Here, his stomach swirls at the feeling of Even’s breath on him, his warm skin against his, at the brightness of his eyes. Here, with Even with him, it’s hard to remember there used to be a time where he thought he didn’t want this.

“You know what they say,” Even says, bringing him back from his thoughts.

“What?”

“It's not weird if you don't make it.”

Isak rolls his eyes. It did its work, though.

However, it’s not easier to learn with him than it was with Noora, and Even also soon realizes it. Isak’s gaze keeps dropping to their feet, to search for mistakes, for ways of improvement, to avoid stomping on Even’s feet. Even keeps making him draw his eyes back up, emphasizing that this is more of a feelings thing than anything, which makes zero sense.

“Try not to think too much about it,” he explains.

Isak huffs. “It's a little hard not to when there's not even music.” Plus several other reasons he’s not going to mention.

Even makes them take a step back, and it’s a miracle that nothing disastrous happens at the little motion. “Do you want me to sing to you, then?”

Isak can’t tell if he’s joking or not, so he opts to say, “Do you also sing in your band?”

“Sometimes.”

“So if I go to your practice, will I see you sing?”

“ _When_ you go to see me practice, you mean? and yeah, maybe.”

“Hmm.”

They keep doing the same feet movements until Isak gets used to it. When he thinks Isak’s ready, Even tells him to lead. They go a little rigid, a little slower, but it’s a huge progress from Isak’s part.

Meanwhile, Even starts a conversation about how his mom taught him to dance when he was little, probably for Isak’s benefit, so he can be distracted and not look down too much. He speaks about how they moved the furniture in their small living room to have all the free space they could get. His eyes have this glint as he recalls the memory, as he tells Isak they tended to broke out in laughter at every silliness, and his mom sometimes just scooped him up in her arms and spun them around.

Isak has fond moments of his own, but he doesn’t share any of them. Before his mom had gotten help, and after her episodes started to get more frequent, those memories had been clouded for a long, awfully while. Looking back at those times, Isak can only feel shame and regret at the thoughts that had crossed his mind. The anger is the one he remembers the most, anger at the world and at everyone around him, some justifiable and some not. But those wounds have long healed, and if the past-Isak would have felt jealous of Even’s story, a story full of love and happiness, this Isak will never know, and honestly, that’s the most comforting thought.

“See? You’re doing it,” says Even suddenly, making him realize that they’ve been dancing for a while without Isak screwing up.  

Even’s lips curve up, reflecting pride, and Isak can only offer him a smile as wide in return. “I guess, you're right.”

Isak phone buzzes twice, and it’s such an unexpected pull to reality that it makes him jump.

It’s a little disappointing that he has to untangle from Even to reach for it.

**Eskild:**

_Your mom’s home little guy._

_I'm waiting for you, parked outside_

**Isak:**

_thanks, I'm there in a minute_

Isak locks his phone and rolls it between his hands. “Uh, Eskild’s here. I have to go.”

Even nods. “See you at school?”

“Yeah, and thanks for…” He doesn’t end the sentence and vaguely gestures with his hand instead.

Even’s smile is soft. “It’s okay. Anything you need.”

As Isak walks out of the place, he’s conscious of his accelerated pulse and the elation running all over him. He tries to bite his lip to hide his beam but doesn’t succeed at all.

****

“So, what’s your deal?” Magnus asks him while they are sitting on the couch of the cafeteria.

Isak stops typing, averting his eyes from his laptop screen. He knew it was a bad idea to work on his assignment here, and he has to send it before his next class. “Um, what?”

“You haven’t hung out with us in ages.”

“I’m right here?”

“But outside of school.”

Isak looks down to write down a few sentences. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“Magnus is right, though,” Mahdi says, breaking off his conversation with Jonas. “It’s just weird, you know? You not being there.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“With what?” Magnus says, “You’re literally doing homework right now.”

Isak shrugs, without stopping typing. “Just—all this family stuff. It’s—a little stressful, I guess.”

At his side, Jonas nudges his foot until Isak looks up again. And jesus, he really doesn’t have time for this right now. “But...you’re okay?”

They are all scrutinizing Isak as they wait for his response, and something in the question and in their looks catches Isak off guard.

Are they—worried about him?

He knows he hasn’t been answering all their messages, and he hasn’t gone to a pregame with them lately, but he never thought—He never thought they would conclude something is wrong.

Which is obviously not true, there’s just a lot to do, and the free time he gets—it’s not much, really—he uses it to just lie on bed and to either watch TV or sleep.

“Yeah,” Isak says. “I’m fine.”

It’s hard to tell if they believe him or not, but he has ten minutes left and he’s almost done writing, so he’ll have to drop that for now. Thankfully, the boys drop it too and start talking about some video game, but he can feel their eyes on him here and there.

Isak finishes his work just in time, and when they’re about to leave he sees Even eating an apple, surrounded by some guys Isak doesn’t know.

Even spots Isak too and waves. Isak’s friends don’t notice, their backs turned, so Isak waves back.

 _You should tell them_ , a part of his brain whispers him.

 _About what?_ the other part tells him.

Isak doesn’t know.

****

It’s Thursday when, for once, he doesn’t have to go to his lessons. It has something to with a meeting with Spain, but Isak has to admit he hadn’t paid too much attention. He sort of wishes it would’ve been a Friday, that way, he would’ve gone with the boys and dissipated their worries.

He will take what he can, though, and today, he’s more than glad to have an afternoon for himself.

After school, Eskild takes him to the clinic to wait for his mother to get out of her appointment. There used to be a time where he couldn’t go inside the building without the urge of running off, where he would sit in the waiting room, suffocation settling and tangling on his throat. It’s more about the waiting room, in every clinic they are all the same for him on the exterior, white walls, silence hovering over the room, the type that makes you want to scream. He remembers thinking how they held reminders of stuff he would rather not recall.

Now, it’s just part of his life routine, have become accustomed little by little.

His mom goes through the door, glancing back to thank her doctor.

She sees Isak, and she smiles.

Isak takes hold of her arm and doesn’t let go until they are inside the limousine.

They never talk too much about the sessions. Isak always asks her how it went, and his mom always answers with a _fine_. It’s the tone that reveals all, though, if it’s a tired fine or a cheery fine, or just that, a fine.

Today is a nice fine. A fine accompanied with a smile, and even if it was faint, it wasn’t forced.

“Do you think he would've stayed? If he knew you were sick?” Isak doesn’t entirely register the question until it’s said aloud, and he’s not sure where it came from. Maybe because of that damn fountain from the other day, or maybe it’s everything. Maybe it’s because he’s spending so much time with that part of his life that it’s inevitable not to come up with questions of _what ifs_ or _did he_ —? or _why this had to go this way_.

The hand running through his hair doesn’t stop. “I don't think so,” his mom says, “Or I don't think I would’ve liked that. If he had stayed as an obligation. It would’ve made us all very unhappy.”

Isak looks at her for a long beat and nods, resting his head on her shoulder afterward.

Because yeah, that makes total sense.

And see? This is what this whole thing has been doing to him. He has this rule of not setting up an entire assumption with the idea of a father, because that can only aim to disappointment. Lately, it's harder to follow it because his father’s past is shaping his future, and Isak sees people he more than likely interacted with every day, so he can't escape those irrational thoughts.

Really, what Isak wants is for his father to stop being such a ghost in his life. Isak is closer to him, to this side of himself than he has ever been, and his dad still feels far away. Before he died, the gifts and the money were only an evidence of his existence, no letters, no phone calls. Isak would have preferred to never receive anything from him, for him to be the son of Marianne and no one else, than the weird radio silence.

“Is there a reason why you asked?”

 _Maybe I just wanted to pretend for a moment. Maybe I just wanted to fool myself._ He shrugs. “Not really.”

“Are you sure? Nothing’s wrong?”

“Yeah. Nothing’s wrong.”

His mom shifts so she can look at Isak in the eyes. “My love, I know I've not always been good at it, but I'm your mother, and I want to hear if something is bothering you.” Isak’s stomach drops, and with her thumb caressing his cheek, he feels like a little kid again. “I know you want to make my job easier, sweetheart, but I'm supposed to take care of you.”

Isak averts his gaze from her. He hadn't noticed the partition going up, and he silently thanks Eskild for giving them space.

“I've been thinking about...how all of this reminds me so much of him, and how I want to stop being angry at him every time he comes up to my mind.”

“Ah, Isak.” Her arms wrap around him a little tighter. It’s been a long time since he had his mom comforting him. “You have every right to feel that way about him, whether is because he left or for not being present. The problem comes when it makes _you_ feel bad.”

“It's just—why couldn't he talk to me at least once.”

“I don't know, sweetheart. Perhaps he thought it would be easier for both, perhaps he just didn't think at all. You don't have to forgive him if you don't want to. He was your father, and he might’ve never acted like he was, but you can't do anything about it now. Just don't let him dictate your life.”

Isak lets the words seep into his core and doesn't say anything else for the rest of the ride.

He goes out and halts with a knot forming in his throat as he sees Jonas waiting for them, sitting near the entrance of the house. He lifts an eyebrow at the limousine behind them and stands up to approach them.

As his mom and Jonas hug, Isak turns his back to them and gestures Eskild to leave. It takes some hand gestures and widening of eyes for him to get it.

The vehicle pulls out, and Isak runs a hand over his face.

What is he supposed to do now?

“I haven’t seen you over here for a while,” his mom says.

Jonas says, “Yeah. Sorry about that. I should come more often.”

“That’ll be great, you know you're always welcome. How is your sister?”

“Good. Finally switched jobs.”

“Well, tell her hi for me.”

“I will.”

“Are you going to come in?” his mom says, and Isak finally gathers enough guts to get to them.

“We will in a second,” Isak says. “You go ahead.”

His mom looks between Jonas and him, hesitance crossing her features. “Okay.”

Isak waits for her to get inside, and then, tells Jonas, lamely “Hi, um, what are you doing here?”

“We’ve been worried about you, man, I thought something was wrong.”

“I told you. I’m okay.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t always believe that.”

Isak doesn't have a good comeback to that, so he only sighs.

“And what was that about?” Jonas says.

Isak frowns. “What?”

“The limo?”

“Oh. My grandma just wanted me to use it.” From his expression, Isak can tell Jonas is only half-convinced. Isak scoffs. “Where would I get a fucking limousine out of nowhere, Jonas.”

Jonas holds up both of his hands. “Okay, it’s just a little weird, that’s all.”

Isak’s gaze fixes on him.

It's not a decision he'd planned on making, but at this moment, it’s what feels the most right.

“Listen, I actually—I have to tell you something.

****

They are lying on the floor of Isak’s bedroom, just like old times. Isak could pinpoint the few exceptions: both are taller, the rug is a darker shade of blue, and it's not Jonas and Isak alone against the world anymore. The important parts though, the fact that they are still Jonas and Isak, stay the same.

Jonas is absolutely flabbergasted. Whatever he’d thought was going on with Isak, he never saw that one coming.

Isak can relate.

“Holy shit—”

“I know.”

“I mean. Wow, fuck—”

“I know.”

“But—are you actually going to?”

“I don’t know, anymore,” Isak says, and it's strange to talk about it aloud. “Maybe? I just know that it's becoming harder to think about saying no.”

Jonas twists the fork to tangle the pasta on it and brings it to his mouth. Isak didn't remember when did his mom cook it, but they’d found it in the fridge and it didn't taste bad when they try it out so they grabbed it before coming to Isak’s room.

“Are you going to tell the others?”

Isak bites his lip, jabbing his own food with the fork.

He can't find a reason to not do it, and it'll be easier to talk to people who are not involved. He thinks on how they not-so-discreetly tried to see if Isak was alright.

He trusts them all, he really does.

“Yes. I will. Tomorrow.”

****

It turns out that Isak doesn't get to tell them himself.

He is pulling out his biology book. A couple walks down the hallway, laughing at each other. As they pass him by, Isak notices how their loud voices turn into mild murmurs. Isak doesn’t find this odd, and high chances are that it was a mere coincidence.

But there’s also a girl a few lockers away from his, staring at him. Her ears turn pink as he catches her watching, and she ducks her head.

She leaves as if in a hurry just as Even appears into view.

He wraps a hand around Isak’s wrist, and says, “Something has happened.” And it's the most serious Isak has ever seen him. “Come on.”

Isak’s eyes are set on where Even is holding his arm. “I have biology.”

“It’s fine, your teacher knows,” he says and drags him to the principal's office without further explanation.

And then, Isak is staring at his own face, printed on dull paper, above it, there is GENOVIAN PRINCE FOUND IN OSLO written in huge bold letters. He doesn't read the article, the title telling him enough. The photo they put is an old one, from the beginning of last year, in which Isak is smiling, and under these circumstances, it feels like mocking.

“How did they find out?” Isak asks, voice surprisingly even, considering he’s shaking inside.

His grandmother rubs her temple, letting out a breath. “The girls.”

“What?”

Eskild says, “They were erm, a little, drunk, yesterday.” His grandmother throws him a pointed look, and Eskild winces. “To be fair, we were all pretty out of it, and Noora wasn’t there with us, so we can’t know for sure who told on you.”

For the way he’s saying it, Isak figures out they do know who told, but they probably don’t want anyone to get backlash by themselves.

Isak puts down the newspaper, his eyes back to his grandmother, “But you're not going to fire them or anything, right?”

“No, no of course not. We _did_ have a little talk, to ensure it won’t happen again.”

Isak can hear the principal chatting with Even outside. His grandmother had made them leave with the excuse that Even would explain some security measures. Confusing flashed through Even’s eyes before catching up, and Isak hopes he’s good at improvising. Although Isak has to admit, it was hilarious to watch the principal gush over the fact that the queen of Genovia had come to the school, plus it had given Isak some time to breathe.

“Listen, Isak,” she says. “I understand we had a bargain. If you don't want to do this, you can tell us now, and it'll be over. We’ll deal with the press and make them write an article convincing enough so everyone leaves you alone.”

Isak brings his hand to his mouth to chew at his thumbnail. It’s a miracle his grandmother doesn’t scowl him for it. “I—I still have to think about a little more.”

Her posture relaxes, her shoulders drop. “It’s alright. But I have to let you know you’ll probably see the media talking about this for awhile. Try to avoid them or you’ll get overwhelmed.”

Isak nods slightly.   

“And one more thing. We have the dinner coming up next week. Try to focus your mind on that.”

“Sure.”

They get up from their seats, and his grandmother is the first one to leave to offer her thanks to the principal. Before Isak can follow her to see the over-enthusiastic reaction she’s going to receive, Eskild puts an arm around his shoulders in a half-embrace.

“We’re sorry,” he says. “We know we messed up.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Isak assures, even if it sounds like a big lie. “People will get tired of gossiping about me. They always do, and then, they’ll find other interesting news to talk about. It’s a cycle. Besides, I do have more important things to worry about. Like that fancy dinner.”

Eskild smiles subtly, a contrast with his usual smirks. “You’ll be fine. The queen thinks you’re ready, and so we do.”

“Really?” Isak says, disbelieving.

“Of course.”

Isak glances to the window where he can see from the other side his grandmother and the principal talking. He can’t tell what they are saying, but the principal is moving his arms in eager gestures. Even is trying not to laugh at them, his lips curved, and when his eyes meet Isak’s, his smile doesn’t waver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, also thank you so much for all the comments and for those lovely anons I got, you made me really happy <3 you can hmu at my [tumblr](https://askybison.tumblr.com/) anytime you want.
> 
> (I'm also starting my uni course tomorrow so wish me luck!!)


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